Absent
by Yanastyjackal
Summary: In a world where aging stops until you meet your soul mate, Hermione Granger is a cynic haunted by her past and not looking for love. However, danger comes straight to her doorstep as she meets the man she is destined to be with - Tom Marvolo Slytherin. AU Hermione/Tom (Inspired by tumblr prompt)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer -** I obviously do not own Harry Potter. This story is inspired by the works of J. . It is also inspired by an idea on tumblr, so I'm not very original at all. Either way, I just wanted to have fun with this idea as it is very cool, and I like to mess around with the history of it, even if a lot of it is very wrong.

 **Chapter One**

It was surreal.

Even though it was her reality, all she had ever known, staring at it always made her think how strange the world was.

She was currently seated in a café area in the middle of a large shopping centre, sipping her hot chocolate and just watching the world go by.

Teenagers, no older than 18 walked past, talking about what had happened to them 30 years ago.

A newspaper stand mourned the recent loss of a woman who was born in 1786. The picture accompanying the headline showed a girl who seemed to be only about 18.

It was cruel and beautiful. But, she supposed, that was how the world worked.

Ever since she was a child, she had been waiting to find her person. Her soul mate. The one human being to make her complete. She remembered in school, she and the other girls used to daydream about what their Absent would be like. What kind of job would they have? Would they be good looking? Secretly - would they be a girl or a boy?

Once your body had reached full maturity, all aging stopped. Millions of people frozen in puberty, some for what felt like forever.

However, if you found your Absent, your aging resumed. Once you found the one person you were supposed to be with, you were free to grow old together, to reach the true eternity that did not exist in years, but in death. But, what if you met them and didn't realise it? What if you spent years in a relationship with someone, believing them to be the one, but eventually realising that while you were aging, your partner was not.

A large part of their education was trying to teach them how to recognise the signs, before lives were ruined. As a child, she saw it as living out a fairy-tale. Lifting a curse and being with your true love. But as she grew up, she saw how wrong that was.

People spent lifetimes looking for their Absent, but never found them. Some were 'lucky' and found their Absent twice, even after their death.

Her name was Hermione Granger. She was 35, and she knew for certain that she had not found her Absent, because she had the face and body of a 21 year old.

She came from a Complete household. From a supposed nuclear family. And while everyone acted like life Bonded was perfect, she knew that not to be true.

For years her friends had asked her why she didn't go and look for her Absent. It was a common practice all over the world. People took years out of their lives, travelling the world, looking for the person they were supposed to be with.

Hermione was happy with her life. She didn't need anything more from it, let alone a relationship she could never really escape. She had a lovely house, a great job and paid for everything herself, which was all she had ever wanted.

She was supposed to be meeting her friend Ginny for coffee, but she was – as usual – late, and so Hermione had resorted to people watching. It was never a good idea for her to be alone with her thoughts and nothing to do. And forever was a very long time to be dealing with them.

Hermione caught sight of her friend, pushing a buggy along with all sorts of bags hanging from the handles. Ginny waved energetically, increasing her pace so she could reach her friend quicker.

"How are you? You look great!" Ginny cried, pulling her purchases off of the handles of the buggy so that it wouldn't fall back when she let go of it. "I haven't seen you in so long!"

"I'm good, I'm good. I've just gotten a promotion, so I'm pretty happy, but busy! So I have kind of been in hermit mode – sorry! How are you? And how is my best little boy?" Hermione replied, reaching into the buggy and pulling out her godson, James, who was giggling as her plunged his sticky hands into her curls and began to play with them.

"He is a little monster! But he is my monster, so I guess he'll have to stay," Ginny tickled her toddler as she said it, and his giggles increased in volume "Everything is great, the kids are loving their new school so I have some more time on my hands which is great. I've started writing again, and I'm hoping I can send something to my publisher by the end of the month."

"That's amazing! What is this one about?"

"It's just a kid's book. I've been feeling inspired by the mind-numbing amount of kids TV I watch. I actually watched Cinderella about 15 times this month alone. I think I'm starting to go crazy! Any news from you? Any romances to tell me about?"

Ginny had started aging again when she was 23, and so now had the appearance of a woman in her mid-30's. She was quite lucky, because her husband Harry was about the same age. It was scary to look at her and see wrinkles when they had known each other from when they were babies. It was scary to think that one day James might look older than Hermione herself.

Hermione attempted to suppress a sigh. It never took long for this conversation to rear its ugly head. It was unavoidable. Any Complete couple just wanted the same for their friends. They were living the ideal life and just wanted it for others. But sometimes the ideal life meant something different to someone else.

"Nope. Just me. As usual." She replied, her voice light but strong in an attempt to say 'can we stop talking about this?'

"Have you ever thought about, _you know_ , being with someone who isn't your absent?" Ginny said in a low voice, looking around her to make sure no one could over hear them.

Hermione was surprised. Ginny had always been very traditional, very conservative. There was a big movement of 'purists' who believed that love and sex should only be between Belonged, and Ginny had often shown sympathy to their cause. This view was felt by most in society, but legislation protected those who chose to be together despite not Belonging to each other.

Hermione herself believed that everyone had a right to feel what they felt as long as they didn't hurt anyone. If people could find love in one another, and understood there was a possibility they would not last, then they should be allowed to express that love.

"No," she said, and with prompting from Ginny's eyebrows she continued "Having a relationship, being with someone is not and never has been something that appeals to me. I don't want someone dictating my life. I want just want my own space"

"But that's not how it is! You are meant to be together, that's how it works! Compromise is a big part of relationships, and when you have someone you love more than anything else in the world, you would be happy to compromise for them, and they feel the same!"

Hermione fought the bitterness that rose up inside her chest and suppressed some angry retorts, instead choosing to cuddle the toddler on her lap a little tighter, as James was starting to nod off in her arms.

A silence stretched out as the two very different women looked at each other from across the table. Eventually Ginny broke the silence and asked her about her promotion.

She had been working for about 5 years in a small museum, a private collection for a large company. It was a shipping company called Atlantic Movement, and was hundreds of years old. It had been renamed many times, due to the company's controversies in the past. Shipping involved a lot more than just food and supplies long ago, and it could never be forgotten. So PR had changed the name to attempt some distance.

The archives were large, and she loved working in them, reading the stories that had been lost through the years. The tales of the people below the surface of history.

She had only been one of the supporting curators, but after the retirement of her boss she had been elevated to the position of main curator. She had no idea how many responsibilities he had had, so the past few months had been spent catching up, forming relationships with people who had known her predecessor for decades.

After filling Ginny in on her promotion, she accidentally let slip about the party that was to be held the following night.

"What, a ball? Sounds fancy! What are you going to wear?!" Ginny squealed, before quieting as her son stirred from his spot on Hermione's chest.

"I have a dress, but I'm not sure if I'm going to wear it. It's a bit risqué." She replied, her face turning red as she thought about the dress. It was something she would NEVER wear.

"Oh come on! You have to! What's this thing for anyway?" Ginny said, waving away the doubt with a careless hand.

"It's to celebrate 400 years of the company. As I am now _technically_ a department head I have been invited. I really don't want to go though. It's such a boys club. Even though the guys look my age, they still live it up like it's the 18th century AKA belittle anything a woman does. I'm pretty sure I can count the number of female department heads on one hand." Hermione fumed. She had had to fight down her every instinct not to attack those assholes sometimes. They treated her like she was nothing, just because she was a woman.

It angered her that people like Ginny tried to act like relationships were equal. Even though their bonds proved that men and women should be treated the same, that they were matching pieces of a puzzle, men had still been considered the greater of the two sexes up until very recently. And even the supposed equality they had now, it was not what it should be, especially with men from centuries past still hanging around.

"Ok, well after the ball you have to come to mine so we can talk about it! You are a young eligible woman and I am going to have to live through you!" Ginny smiled. She looked so sweet Hermione agreed, although she knew she'd live to regret it.

Ginny and Hermione continued to chat for another half an hour, before Hermione had to get back to work. It was Friday, so she was happy to sacrifice her lunchtime for a quick coffee with Ginny, just to make the day go faster. She just wanted to be in her bed doing her paperwork, rather than the office… doing her paperwork.

Taking her time to walk up to the 'museum', she kept her head up as the people passed her. And by 'people' she meant men. Ignoring as they judged her with their eyes, or straight up leered at her.

She knew she did not have a very healthy opinion of men.

Entering her mahogany office she chucked her bag onto the floor, and began to check the emails on her computer.

Several memos and emails later, she found a newsletter, recounting the major events within the company in the month. What caught her eye in particular was the notice announcing the party that would be taking place the next day, and stating that one of the original founders of the company would be attending.

This shocked her completely, as she knew them to be ancient. Atlantic Movement was part of an old chain of huge multi-national companies, all started over a range of centuries by the same group of men.

By now, they must be at least 1000 years old. Now a days, you never saw someone that old. They were usually rich enough to keep out of the public eye, and bored of the mundane life of the 'young'. To actually see one in person would be interesting. The last time she had seen one even close to their age was when she was a young child. They were considered celebrities, many would love to be in her position to be able to see one.

She thought again about the party, and her willingness to attend began to dwindle. Having a founder there would cause the smarmy climbers of the company even worse. They would be insufferable, talking non-stop about meeting him. There would only be about 5 other women who actually worked at Atlantic movement, and the rest would be trophy wives, gossiping at the tables whilst the men retreated for cigars to discuss 'business' – although she would never get invited.

Suddenly, a head popped around the door. It was her boss Horace Slughorn, he managed all the department heads at the London headquarters.

"Good Afternoon Mr. Slughorn, can I help you with something?" she asked kindly. He was a nice man, and always looked after her, even though he said things that annoyed her. He did pretty well compared to others at the company despite being over 100.

"Ahh yes, Hermione! I just wanted to come in and make sure you were coming to the shin-dig tomorrow. Mr. McLaggen has been asking for you specifically, and asked me to ensure you attended" he smiled in pride, missing the split-second look of horror on his subordinates face.

"Uh, yes sir, I will be attending, if it is Mr. McLaggen's wish. Is there anything else?" Mr McLaggen always 'asked for her'. He had been after her since day one, and every encounter it was harder to keep his slimy hands off of her.

"No my dear! Have a lovely day! Make sure you get your beauty sleep!" whistling a jaunty tune, he left down the corridor, and once he was at a safe enough distance, Hermione slammed her head down onto the table.

She would have to attend now, there was no escaping it. The last time she had missed a work event against the behest of Mr. McLaggen, she had received a citation, warning she'd be suspended if she did it again. She had tried to complain about it, but he was too high up the chain of command for HR to do anything about it.

Battling her way through the next couple of hours, she was able to collect her things and go home. She was very proud of her little flat. Her first wages were spent buying a comfy leather armchair so she could read her books in the corner. Warm light spread throughout, and she was able to just see Regents Park from her window.

Throwing her bag onto her bed, she leaned out of the window. It was a beautiful day in London, and as she breathed in the air, she thought about what the years could bring her.

Maybe she should just find someone. Even if they weren't her Absent. She wouldn't be lonely anymore. She wouldn't be empty. But a part of her wondered if she wanted to be alone. She could live out her life, moving through the ranks. It had always made her angry that there were no powerful women, maybe she could be one of the first.

But forever is a long time to live.

It was 2076, how people interacted was changing. Even if she wasn't traditional with how she lived, it didn't mean it was wrong, or that people would judge it. She had even heard of legislation being put forward to allow same-sex marriage, despite same-sex bonding existing since the very beginning. It was the best time to be alive, and she was lucky to be there. That was how she should be thinking. She had to think like that or she wouldn't be able to live.

Putting on the TV, she flicked through the channels. The history channel was running a series on the impact of Baconian science and 'philosophy', so for the rest of the evening she ate her dinner, worked on her paperwork, and tried not to think about the following evening.

As it was a Saturday, she had the day to herself.

She spent her time reading and tidying her flat, halfway through the day taking a small walk to the local park so she didn't spend her whole time indoors, although later she realised that was unnecessary as she was going to the ball later.

The latter part of her day was spent getting ready. She wearily applied her makeup and curled her hair, painting her façade back on with a vengeance. Not a hair was out of place – she looked beautiful. Her dress was an impulse buy, but it was gorgeous. Rich, dark blue that clung to her figure, her curves highlighted to the fullest, but with a modest neckline, it showed off her figure but not enough to be daring. Her hair fell in waves, one side tucked behind her ear to show off her small vintage stud earrings.

She managed to get ready just in time, as the cab arrived as she fixed the finishing touches. Uttering a very unladylike 'Shit!' she chucked her vital items into a small clutch, grabbed her white pea coat and ran out the door.

When she arrived the party was in full swing. The ballroom was beautiful, with towering ornate windows 3 stories high revealing gorgeous gardens outside, whilst the inside glittered with gilded mirrors and marble floors, couples gliding across the room. Angels painted on the ceiling watched the people below dance and gossip, and listened to the band as they played a lively tune.

After handing her coat into the cloakroom, she walked with (false) confidence to an empty table. She was right in her assumption. There were no women there she didn't know, all were wives and colleagues. Everyone was dressed in their best, and many wore a dress similar to her own – the difference was, she was single and they were not. If she was not mistaken, she was the only single woman in the room. That meant all eyes were on her.

She would have been flattered, but she knew what the eyes and attention meant. Unlike more liberal parts of society, the kinds of people who worked at Atlantic Movement were very conservative. Whilst some would spend many years with people who were not their Absent, even marry them, in these circles to do so was a shameful thing. So when men talked to her, tried to form a connection with her, she knew it was not so they could form a lasting relationship with her. They wanted to use her and leave her. As a woman in the workplace, she was used to this. Many men assumed they were all easy, had loose morals, but that was not the case. If she wanted to be with someone, then she would. But she felt nothing romantic for anyone – man or woman. She would not have her rise to the top ruined by something as stupid as a reputation.

Despite her inner monologue, she was quite charming when she wanted to. Greeting many as she walked, and engaging some with conversations, she smiled and laughed, none of it reaching her eyes. She was firm with the men, but not in a way where they could be affronted by her rebuff of their advances. She played it like a game, turning their flirtatious remarks away with a quip. One of the few male friends she had at Atlantic movement said she had a 'silver tongue'.

Passing the hours away she danced with a few gentlemen, talked with some of her colleagues, and pigged out on bread rolls in a corner where no one could see her. Though she had dreaded the night, she was actually having a fairly good time.

Throughout the night, the main topic of conversation was the founder coming to the ball. It hadn't specified which it was, and she knew as head historian that all of them were controversial. She was privy to many dirty details, and she was sure much of what they had done over the years was covered up as well. Sometimes when she read through their records she felt sick for working for such a company.

As the hours dragged on, the founder still hadn't made an appearance, and Hermione began to feel optimistic that he wouldn't arrive.

Just as her spirits began to improve, disaster stuck, as Mr. McLaggen spied her and made his way over. She had been very subtly avoiding him up until that point, and cursed as a smarmy smile made its way onto his face.

"Ah Hermione darling," he took one of her hands and placed a lingering kiss upon it, "so good to see you, you look simply divine"

Unable to respond in words, she simpered a smile, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp to no avail.

"Would you do me the honour accompanying me to the dance floor?" he asked. He was handsome enough, but couldn't seem to understand that she didn't like him. Or just didn't care.

"Of course," she grimaced a smile, and followed him onto the dance floor, silently swearing as the music changed to a slow song. Disgust filled her as his hands found their way to her hips, and his thumbs lightly brushed up and down her hip bones. She forced herself no to gag as she put her arms around his neck, and tried to avoid conversation by placing her head there as well.

"I'm so tired," she said in an effort of self-preservation "I think I'll head home after this."

"No," he groaned, holding her closer to him. "I've waited all night to see you"

She laughed nervously, "I thought you would have been waiting all night to see the founder."

"Of course, but it's you I NEEDED to see." He replied, and her attempt at keeping it light completely failed.

"Mr. McLaggen, I'm so sorry if I have led you on, but I am not interested in a relationship with someone other than my Absent," that was the best thing about their society, as soon as you pull the purity card people generally back off. "I'm sorry if I have caused you any sadness."

He went still, and Hermione suddenly felt fear fill her, despite all the people around them. His hands suddenly went to her neck, pulling her face up so he could look at her, his face intense and unreadable.

She was spared whatever he was going to say to her, as someone announced the arrival of the founder. McLaggen's hands immediately dropped. She took the opportunity to move away from him quickly, and tried to make her way through the crowd that had gathered towards one of the sitting rooms that lined the ballroom.

Then she did something that she wished she hadn't. A simple thing. A stupid thing.

She turned her head in curiosity to look at the founder, to see the man everyone was making such a fuss over. When she saw him, it was all over. All the signs she had been taught to recognise, the fluttering of eyelashes, sudden rise in temperature, dizziness and fatigue. It lasted only a moment, but long enough to recognise what it was, which filled her with dread. She didn't want to be with an 'elder' of the world. She wanted to be free, and she knew with someone like him she never would be.

She quickly turned away. She thought that perhaps if she didn't approach him, he would never know it was her and she could go on living her life in peace, without someone telling her what to do. If he didn't know who he had matched with, or didn't realise it, nothing would change.

Almost running, she grabbed the door handle and threw herself into the room. It was beautifully decorated, with a large vase of lilies on a stand in the middle of the room. Moving as fast as her heels could carry her, she pulled open the window, and sucked in the cold night's air.

 _Try to stay calm. Try to stay calm._ She said over and over in her head, and as the minutes dragged on, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow.

She was safe. He wasn't coming. She could live her life as she wanted to.

He had been very handsome. Dark perfect hair, brooding eyes and pale skin. He had stood tall and broad above most of the people, looking down on them. But had he looked at her?

As she was about to close the window, she heard someone enter and lock the door behind them.

Her eyes slowly shut, and the heartbeat she had just gotten under control went wild once again. No matter who was also in the room, it wouldn't end well.

She turned around, her eyes open once more.

It was him. He was a beautiful nightmare, standing tall in his tux and appraising her appearance.

"Hello," he said, his voice deep as his dark eyes searched hers.

"Hello," she replied simply.

Silence stretched, and the very awkward part of her wanted to say something – anything – to make it stop, but the more sensible part of her was scared what would happen.

"I felt it, did you?" his voice rang out in the room, and she could hear laughter and music filtering in behind the locked door.

"Yes, I did," she responded, once again not elaborating, which, judging by the slight tightening in his eyes seemed to annoy him. She had learnt very young to read people, and it had saved her from pain many times. She wondered if it would save her now.

"What is your name? How were you invited to the event?" he asked, his eyes burning with intensity. She had heard thousands of stories of Absent couples finding each other, most of them romantic or emotional. She hadn't heard of one as awkward as hers.

"Hermione. Hermione Jean Granger. I'm the head of the archive department." She watched as one of his eyebrows arched, and his lip curled into a smirk.

"Ah, a Granger. I believe I know your father, Oliver Granger," his smile widened as her hands curled into fists, and she visibly struggled not to show anger. "Head of department? You've impressed many people."

Against her will, her eyes narrowed. Many in the higher circles of society knew about her relationship with her father. It was all anyone talked about for about 5 years. Millionaire loses wife and daughter – one dies and the other runs away. They had all been shocked when she turned up a couple of years later, supporting herself and with an actual job without the help of her father. It was scandalous and he knew it, and his little smile just made her angry.

"My aim in life," she said sardonically. Collecting herself she blurted "If you'll excuse me, I must go. I am meeting my friend now, she wanted to hear about the ball and I can't keep her waiting."

Both eyebrows were raised now. For almost all women, their aim in life was to find their Absent, so it must have been surprising for one to find her Absent and immediately try to run off.

When he didn't respond, she smiled awkwardly, gave a nod in goodbye and walked past him. Reaching the door however, she realised the key was missing to unlock it.

She cleared her throat nervously, her hand on the knob, not wanting to look at him as she stared at the mahogany wood "Excuse me, could you unlock the door for me?"

She heard a dark chuckle then silence once more. She was about to repeat her request when she felt his presence behind her.

This wasn't right. She felt uncomfortable. She just wanted to get out of the god forsaken room.

"Aren't you going to ask my name?" he asked, moving her hair from her neck, and tracing his finger up and down it. He had very warm hands, rough but also soft.

She gulped – very loudly – which made him laugh again. "What's your name?" she said in a strong voice.

"Thomas Slytherin," he said evenly, as if waiting for a response.

It took all she could not to recoil from his touch. Out of all the founders of Atlantic Movement, for all the horrible things they had done over the years, all the people they had hurt, he was the worst of them all. Thomas Slytherin had started the whole thing, and was the eldest of them all, at least 1100 years old. He had pushed the involvement in the slave trade, championed it during the abolition movement 20 years before. He had fought against rebelling colonial forces without mercy, committing countless atrocities.

Out of all the people her absent could be, it was Thomas Slytherin she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with.

He seemed to sense her disgust, and laughed once again.

"You're a smart one, aren't you?" he said, chuckling. She shot him a sharp angry look "And she's feisty too"

"She has a name, MISS GRANGER, and can be referred to by it!" she shot back, growing angry at his patronising attitude. A part of her mind screamed at her that he was basically her boss and that she couldn't speak to him like that but she ignored it.

She batted his hand off of her neck and turned to face him. "I would appreciate it if you would let me go Mr. Slytherin, my friend is waiting for me," she was fuming, her arms crossed as she introduced formalities in an attempt to gain control of the situation and make it more appropriate.

"I've never had one like you" he breathed, his smirk growing as he looked down on her with a fondness that made her more annoyed.

"Correction, sir – You don't have me. Now if you don't mind, please open the door" she repeated, tapping her foot on the ground.

He was all smiles and laughs, a handsome man that seemed to get everything he wanted. But she knew who he was. What he was. A monster. She didn't want to be anywhere near him.

He moved closer, backing her up against the door, causing her head to hit it with a dull thud. Her head craned up to look at him, whilst his craned down to look at her. She tried to keep control of her breathing, but it grew more and more out of control as he held her chin gently but firmly in his hand.

"So beautiful. So angry." He said, his voice gravelly as his eyes darted to her lips. Slowly, he brushed his over hers, and her heart beat fast in a panic.

In one swift movement, she darted out from in-between him and the door and went to the centre of the room.

"Goodbye Mr. Slytherin," she said, both coldly and cordially, before she ran to the window and climbed out in a most undignified manner. It was the first floor so she didn't fall to a painful death, and to her relief he did not follow her.

As she ran through the gardens and onto the streets hailing a cab, she felt triumph coursing through her veins until it stopped still, corrupted by dread as she realised work would likely be very different on Monday.

 _Apologies to followers of my other stories, I will be getting back to them, I have just had exams and moving and work to do so I've been a bit all over the place - sorry!_

 _Please Review!_

 _Lots of Love!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer - I'm not original, don't own Harry Potter, Ms Rowling does. And I got the idea for this from a tumblr prompt. Will try to find it and post it in my bio as it is a really cool idea and not mine.**

Chapter Two

Sitting on the bus as it drove further and further away from the party, she struggled to take even breaths, the thoughts rushing through her mind pushing her into a panic. She didn't even know what bus she was on, she just hailed down the first one that came near.

The lights of the city blurred past as she gazed through the thick glass, not comprehending what she was seeing as she thought about her predicament.

He was her boss, and therefore he had complete control over her life, because it was all she had. What if he decided to fire her? He was an elder, one of those so set in their ways she would never be considered an equal in his eyes.

After about half an hour, Hermione collected herself. Jumping from the bus to a cab she made her way to Ginny's house, ready to tell her all about her night. She and Ginny held very different views, but she hoped that as her best friend, she would just try to understand she was upset, and that all she needed was someone to listen.

But, as it turned out, Ginny wasn't very good at that. Although to be fair, Hermione should have known this.

"Hermione! Oh my goodness, you look beautiful! You should have come to me though, I would have done your hair so it stayed nice the whole night! It's getting a bit bushy." Ginny gushed as Hermione repressed the scowl that always came to her when her hair was mentioned.

"Thanks – it's been quite the night."

Ginny squealed, grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her into the house. It was beautiful, with stained glass allowing the light from street lamps outside to lay beautiful patterns on the mahogany floor. Harry – Ginny's husband – came from old money, and while Ginny didn't, she still had good blood, coming from an ancient family.

Collapsing on a sofa in one of their many lounges in the house, Hermione tried to arrange herself with a little more dignity. Ginny was running around the room, grabbing a couple of wine glasses from a liquor cabinet and a bottle of wine hidden behind an aging bottle of scotch.

As soon as she had been handed a glass, Hermione took a large gulp, breathing deeply as it burned down her throat.

"Yikes, that bad, huh?" Ginny said, sympathetically as she took a dainty sip of her own glass.

Hermione just nodded, taking a smaller sip this time as she tried to find the words to explain what had happened.

"Well?" Ginny said – patience wasn't her strong suit.

"I found my Absent today," she croaked, her throat closing up to try and stop the words from coming out. "And he is one of the last people I'd ever want to be with."

"Oh my God, who is he? I bet it's one of those dishy guys from your work! Is he handsome? What does he look like?" Ginny said, excitedly, her eyes brightening at the prospect of her friend finding happiness.

"He is very handsome, but I'd hope that wouldn't matter too much to me. He has straight black hair, beautiful haunting eyes. He is very tall, and has the most gorgeous face I have ever seen. But… he is an elder. Possibly one of the worst in the empire."

"Holy crap – your Absent is an elder?! You're so lucky! They always have so much money! More than Harry has, that's for sure! Is he an elder of Atlantic Movement?" Ginny shot back, her eyes shining.

"Ginny you don't get it! He's done horrible things, killed thousands of people! And he's the person I'm supposed to be with for the rest of my life?! What does that say about me?! That I'm matched with a person like that? I could never love him. I could never live my life with him." She cried, before taking another huge gulp of wine.

"Despite everything I say. Despite….despite my parents, I had always hoped that there would be someone out there for me. To share the burden. But not a monster."

Ginny put an arm around her, but was silent for a few moments, unsure of what to say. Hermione had never spoken much about her parents, but Ginny knew it wasn't good. Hermione had fled her childhood home following her mother's death, and had never told Ginny why, despite being her closest friend.

"Well…I….Erm," Ginny stuttered "All of these things you say he's done were done in the past, different times where people had to make different, more difficult choices. Maybe you just need to give him a chance, to show him the world we live in now, and if you believe he can't change, then you can fully say you're done."

"He doesn't seem like the kind of man who hears the word 'no' very often. He wouldn't let me leave the room, I had to climb out of the window!' Hermione replied, her voice rising to a shout before she quickly covered her mouth, afraid of waking the children upstairs with their nanny.

Ginny's eyes widened at Hermione's escape. Ginny had always been the adventurous one, getting into trouble and sassing the teachers. But married life had changed her, and the world of etiquette and money meant such an action of climbing out of a window in a ball gown was frowned upon to say the least. The fact that such an action was performed in front of a founder no less was a disgrace in the eyes of many.

"Oh my god, how could you do that? He probably just wanted to talk!"

"What? So a man locks me in a room and kisses me against my will is allowed to do so just because he is my Absent? Where do I get a say in this?"

"He kissed you? Oh my goodness! How was it?"

"Well I don't know, I was focused on dealing with feelings of fear at being locked in a room with a psychopath!"

"Come on Hermione! You need to at least try and talk to him!" Ginny huffed, frustrated at being unable to get through to her.

"I know," Hermione sighed, "Technically he's my boss. And unless he miraculously decides I'm not for him, I reckon I'll be seeing a lot more of him."

They debated Thomas Slytherin for a good two hours - with many more glasses of wine – before a tipsy Hermione decided it was time to go home.

She felt numb on the drive home, and trudged up her stairs, yearning for her bed.

When she reached her door, however, she stopped short.

There, leaned against the burgundy of her front door was a bouquet of wildflowers. Warily, she picked them up and checked the black card that accompanied it, to find it signed:

 _See you on Monday,_

 _Yours,_

 _T.S._

Resisting the urge to tear them to shreds then and there, Hermione took a deep breath, opened the door and proceeded to fall asleep almost immediately after her head hit the pillow, leaving the flowers to wilt on her bedside table.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer - I am rubbish, so I could never think up Harry Potter and therefore do not own it. Also I got the idea for this from a tumblr prompt, and got all YA novel with it, applying new meanings to rando words like 'absent'. Yikes.**

 **Chapter Three**

Hermione spent a fruitless Sunday trying to figure out what to do.

Slytherin obviously knew where she lived, although she imagined that would be easy for him seeing as he owned the company she worked for.

When she had awoken that morning, and seen the simple but beautiful flowers on her bedside table, she felt her heart fill with dread. There was also the fear that he knew where she lived.

After hours of trying to figure out what to do (quit? Ignore him? Run? – all had failed for her own mother) she gave up, and resigned herself to letting it all play out the next day.

Sitting in her armchair, she stared at the rain hammering at the window outside. Crookshanks her cat hadn't been back in a couple of days, he was probably wet and cranky. Well, he was always cranky. But she loved him.

It was the rainy days she missed her mother. They would always go for walks in the pouring rain, laughing as the jumped in puddles, twirling redundant umbrellas as they got soaking wet. Father never approved, and eventually the walks stuttered to a stop.

The small smile that came to her face when she thought of her mother disappeared, as it always did, when she thought of her father.

The sky was dark, she decided it was as good a time as any to get some sleep to mentally prepare for the day to come.

It was 4.30am when she woke again, and after a bath she got dressed, applied her makeup and headed to work. She had a feeling that he would be waiting for her if she went at her usual time, and so, unlocking her office with her personal key, she felt rather smug at eluding him.

This feeling continued for a few hours, but she almost had a heart attack when someone burst through the door at 8:30am.

At first she thought it was Slytherin due to the shape she briefly saw behind the glass window of her door. But to her relief – and annoyance – it was just Cormac.

"Oh! Mr Mclaggen, what can I do for you today?" she asked primly with pursed lips.

"You slipped away the other night. I had wanted to dance some more with you," he said, supremely confident in his charm as he pushed her papers out of the way and sat on the edge of her desk. Hermione responded by moving as far away as her wheelie chair allowed under the desk without being rude.

"I'm sorry, but I wasn't feeling well, I had to go home. In fact, I'm still not feeling great and I don't want you to catch anything, so I'd recommend not coming too close," she replied, smiling, so her words sounded less like 'Stay the hell away from me.'

"Oh, I don't mind, it'll be worth it, just being in your company," he replied, reaching for her hand and clasping it in his own.

She gave an awkward smile and said nothing, uncomfortable as he just stared at her.

"I know you said at the ball that you only wanted to be with your Absent, but I have so much I can offer you. You'll never want for anything. You'll never have to work again. I have a huge house we can live out our lives together, and just enjoy each other's company. Please, Hermione, say you'll be mine." He said emphatically, gazing pleadingly into her eyes.

But it was no marriage proposal. No matter how romantic and easy he made it sound, the truth was what mattered. For all intents and purposes, she would be his mistress, his kept woman, separate from a society that would never accept her.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she replied "I would be living in shame. You know what people think of women who do that. No. I like where I am, I am content with my present circumstance." She pulled her hand out of his grasp and laid both primly on her lap.

He really didn't know her, didn't even comprehend that her work was the most important part of her life – why would she give it up? Why would she give up her freedom? It was the greatest thing a person could possess, and yet people still wanted to take it from others.

"Now see here," he replied, flustered, his face slowly growing pink as her response was not at all what he expected. "I decided to ignore your status in life. The scandal surrounding you. And offered place many women would kill for, and that perhaps you don't even **deserve**. And as for your so called Absent you aren't even searching for them! I looked up your records, you started here when you were 20, and you haven't left since to look for your Absent! You're not even trying to find them! You need a man to guide you, as your father obviously failed. Of course, everyone knows that," he said nastily, and she felt her throat constrict in anger. "Perhaps it is up to me to bring you to heel!" he shouted, grabbing her by her upper arms and shaking her.

"Mr Mclaggen!" a voice quaked with anger, and both Hermione and Cormac's head whipped around to see who had uttered it, to find Thomas Slytherin standing in the doorway. He looked angry and beautiful in an impeccable three piece suit.

"Just what do you think you're doing? Handling a lady in such a way?" His voice was quiet, but just as terrifying, and Cormac blanched in fear.

"I, I, I was just offering Miss Granger a position in my household," he stammered in reply and Hermione gave him a dirty look he thankfully missed in his terror.

"'A position in your household', what a lovely euphemism! I take it Miss Granger refused your dishonourable request based on your response?"

Not knowing what to say in the ensuing silence, Cormac gaped like a fish, before managing to gasp out "Uh, yes sir, but she has no Absent and I thought it would be better for her in the long term to be with me."

"Well it seems you have nothing to worry about Mr Mclaggen, as Miss Granger and I discovered at the ball that we belong to each other. Now, if you please, get your hands of off my Absent" he said, filling the room with a coldness that seeped into the bones.

The pressure on her arms his fingers had made was slowly released as Mclaggen stared at her gobsmacked, before quickly leaving the room before Slytherin could berate him more.

The room was left in an unbearable silence.

 _Just stay calm_ she tried to tell herself as she studied his face.

He really was beautiful. Despite all the damage he could have sustained over his long life he looked perfect, not a mark on his face or hands to blemish him. His eyes looked deeply into hers, and the blue within seemed to never end.

"I like your office," he said softly, his voice just as deadly, his eyes trailing over its interior.

"Thanks," was her simple reply, unsure of how to respond.

"No pictures or personal items, however. Not even a trinket. You wouldn't be able to tell someone had held this office for 6 months if you looked around at it. So what does this tell me?" He asked her, obviously rhetorically, a small smirk marring his angelic façade, whilst his dark eyes looked deeper into hers.

"It tells me you're lonely. You push people away to focus on your work, or maybe you don't want people involved in your life at all." His drawling voice said arrogantly, and her eyes flashed with anger, but she fought to keep it under control.

He walked around the desk, just as Mclaggen had, except this time she could not move her chair away as he grabbed the armrests and pulled the chair towards him, leaning over her and preventing her escape.

"But you want it, don't you? Connection. To understand someone and have them understand you. Someone to tell all your secrets…" the last word came out as a hiss and she felt herself shiver as she tried to block him out.

He was almost hypnotizing, so intense it was impossible to look away. It was unnerving. She didn't like it.

"You just want to be lived," he said, softer still, and trailed a finger along her face. His lip curled slightly as he said it, and Hermione had a feeling he was mocking her.

Her heart was beating faster, her eyes wide as she stared up at him.

Yes, she wanted someone. Wanted it, craved it, NEEEDED IT. Wanted someone she could talk to all night about her hopes and dreams, someone who understood her.

But this felt all wrong. Her entire education had been focused on finding and understanding how to interact with her Absent. She was supposed to trust in it, to allow herself to fall head first into feelings with a stranger. It was supposed to feel natural.

But natural was the opposite of what this was. He was charming. Too charming. It didn't feel right. He didn't feel right.

He felt like a lie.

Her eyes grew cold, and the hope that had built with his words died. Yes she wanted what everyone wanted - to belong to someone else. But she wanted it to be her choice. Her mother had thought she had a choice, but as the years went by even the smallest choices were taken away from her, until her world became small, and she was a shadow of what she once was.

"I believe you are mistaken Mr Slytherin," she replied, eyebrow raised, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."

A brief moment of shock passed over his face, before it was quickly covered up by an angelic smile, "Well I do expect my employees to work hard. I'll be taking on a much more hands on role in the company, so you'll be seeing a lot more of me."

Hermione was unable to stop herself from pursing her lips, and he laughed when he noticed. His hand was still on her face, and one of his fingers stroked across her lips.

Her head reared back, but he still had a grip on her, causing him to laugh again.

"Can't jump out the window this time darling," he chuckled, and it was true. They were on the second floor and he had her caged into a chair.

"Why should I need to?" she spat, her anger suddenly bursting free as she scowled at him. Why should she accept being manhandled twice in the space of 10 minutes?

"Why indeed?" he laughed, in a way that suggested to her he knew the answer. Stroking her cheek once more and ignoring the glare she sent his way, he stood up and promptly left the room.

As soon as he was gone, Hermione let out a stream of unladylike language, cursing both Mclaggen and Slytherin, before she sat down in a huff and resumed her paperwork.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 ** _Disclaimer – I don't own shit. Sorry mum._**

The rest of the day passed without incident, however she felt on edge the whole time. Every time someone knocked on her door, she expected it to be Slytherin, and when it wasn't, she felt relief… but also an emotion she could not place.

Just as she was about to escape for the day, Slughorn popped his head around the door.

"Ah Miss Granger! How are you my dear?" He didn't wait for a response, and in his jovial manner continued "I have heard of the happy incident that has occurred between yourself and Lord Slytherin! What capital news! I suppose we shall hear wedding bells soon enough!"

 _Oh God,_ she thought, her face ashen as she took in Slughorns own beaming one, _If everyone doesn't know already, Slughorn will be sure to tell them_.

"How…. How did you find out?" she asked delicately. She needed to find out if Mclaggen had blurted it out to his friends or Slytherin had told them himself. She was counting on Mclaggen pride to keep him from telling everyone, after being rejected and humiliated.

"Why from Lord Slytherin himself! He called all the heads of departments into his office" – apart from her it seemed – "to let us know the joyful news!" he cried, his already red face growing even redder as he relayed his story.

"Right. Well. I suppose I must go and see him." She said stiffly, standing up from her desk as she repressed her anger. How dare he tell anyone without her knowledge? Even without their strained relationship, it was traditional for couples who Belonged together to tell their acquaintances together.

"My dear, would you like me to chaperone? I am sure that Lord Riddle is an honourable gentlemen, but I would be remiss in my duty as your employer if I did not offer," he asked kindly, and Hermione gently declined. It annoyed her, but he was from a different time, and was just trying to be nice.

After Slughorn left, Hermione set her office to right and locked up, before making her way to the main building.

It was very beautiful, however Hermione had always felt uncomfortable entering. It was one of the oldest buildings in London, with all sorts of architectural styles mixed together to make a largely imposing structure. Stone gargoyles glared down at her as she walked towards it, its façade almost churchlike, although the dealings that went on inside were anything but.

The receptionist looked down his nose at her, sniffing primly as he took in her 'short' skirt. Ignoring this, Hermione asked if she could see Lord Slytherin.

Raising his eyebrows, Percy – as his name badge revealed – replied "I'm afraid I must ask, do you have an appointment? Because Lord Slytherin is a very important and busy man and has no time to deal with the conversations of women."

It was Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrows. "I'm afraid I don't have an appointment, but as a head of the archiving department I have much to discuss with him. He asked to meet with me this week, and I'm sure will be very angry if that meeting does not occur. I'd hate to tell him that an upstarting receptionist was the cause." She said, feeling her hair growing frizzier by the minute as a result of her anger.

 _Yikes, dial it down a bit._ She thought to herself, taking a deep breath. She always had problems with anger.

Percy's neck went red, and clearing his throat he picked up the phone and called Lord Slytherin's office.

Hermione smirked as she heard the confirmation on the phone that Slytherin did indeed wish to see her, and without looking at her he gave her directions to Slytherin's office.

Weaving through endless corridors and up never ending mahogany staircases, Hermione stared at the walls, covered in expensive paintings of years gone by. Landowning families in their best outfits, small slave children by their sides. Colony and pasture. Ships to the new world, carrying the most precious cargo.

She turned her head away and continued on her journey, ignoring the tired faces of slaves on the walls. It shouldn't still be so hard. It was something she did every day in her work.

Finally she reached his office, and, knocking on the heavy wood she heard his rich voice calling her in.

She was struck by the opulence of the place. No office she had ever seen before had been filled with such expensive goods. Gold accents shone in the light of the crystal chandelier, furniture upholstered by the finest fabrics. The old-world wealth intimidated her – and she supposed that must be the point. Wealth as a show of power, and he certainly had a lot of both.

"Miss Granger, welcome. I was wondering when you'd visit me. I must say, I'm disappointed it came so soon, I thought you'd hold out for longer." He said smoothly, taking a swig of scotch from a snifter glass.

She scowled. What the hell was that supposed to mean? What kind of game was he playing?

"Oh? I'm afraid I'm too angry to care how disappointed you are Mr Slytherin. I believe it is typically up to the woman to decide when announcements will be made. And yet you decided that after only two days and no discussion everyone should know!" she said, trying to keep her clenched fists from shaking.

He swirled his drink in his glass and gave a small smile as he stared down at it. "Well, I decided that I didn't want to wait. As you are so opposed to my company, I decided I must give you no choice. How else are we to get to know each other?" He said in an innocent voice, but she heard the mocking in his voice, and her scowl grew deeper.

"And I get no choice in this? You are under the assumption that I will accept this. I do not know much about you Mr Slytherin, but you obviously don't know much about me if you think I will allow you to take my choices from me!" she fired at him, trying not to stamp her foot as she said it. She did have a flair for the dramatic (AKA jumping out of a window)

Taking another swig of his drink, he ignored her passionate speech and said "Come to dinner with me."

She laughed incredulously "Why on earth would I do that? I have already decided I do not like you. I know for a fact that Absent's can be wrong. One dinner will not change that, so I won't put either of us through the pain!"

He stood up and made his way towards her. Standing her ground, she refused to back down as she had before. His eyes grew brighter at the sight of her head held high, and she thought she almost saw pleasure within them.

"How can you be sure your judgement has been made fairly? As you said, you don't know me, so how can you even form an opinion? The only remedy would be for us to talk." He said smoothly, standing only a few inches from her.

She laughed again, right in his face which appeared to annoy him. "In case you've forgotten Mr Slytherin, I am the head of the archiving department, which in the eyes of many would make me an expert on Atlantic Movement. As an expert, I am very knowledgeable on the founders of the company, including the controversial figure of Thomas Slytherin. I think I know some things about you no-one else alive does. In fact, does the Knights of Walpurgis ring a bell?" she said, her voice dripping with condescension, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in with every word – feeling taller with every word.

His eyes flashed with anger, but he said nothing, so she continued.

"I wonder what people would do if they found out that a group of terrorists were led by none other than the illustrious Thomas Slytherin?" she spat, before smiling in satisfaction at his angry face.

"I don't believe they would care. Especially as it came from a little girl who sticks her nose where it doesn't belong," he hissed. Hermione raised her eyebrows once more. If anyone belonged in the archive department, it was the head of it, in other words Hermione herself. "Besides, that was two hundred years ago, and even today most don't care what happens to Negros and half-breeds".

She was shocked by the hate and spite laced in his voice, although she probably shouldn't have been. The Knights of Walpurgis had been vicious. Systematically performing raids on slums containing the relatively few free slaves, raping and killing as they saw fit. Only a few had been caught, and they never revealed their leader, and she had only been able to tell due to the expense reports she found at the bottom of an old box, and extensive research into the murders.

She looked up at him in disgust. He had confirmed her suspicions. He was a white supremacist, probably one of the worst. Ironically, she was the person he was supposed to be with. Oh, how it made her smirk. He would be so angry if he knew.

Suddenly smiling brightly, she said "Fine. When do you want to go?"

He stared down at her suspiciously. He knew she was playing with him, but why?

"Tonight. I have a reservation at The Grand. Wear something nice, and I will pick you up from that dingy flat you call your home." He said coldly, withdrawing emotion from the conversation.

"Fine," she said again, ignoring the remark about her flat.

Striding toward the door, she looked back again. He was still staring at her. Maintaining eye contact, she let her smile drop, before she slammed the door shut.

 ** _Hey guys, thanks for the responses! Love you all! It really helped me write more, so please review! Decided to ease up on the manhandling, because it was getting to me. Jinkies, 'Absent's' was hard to write, felt so wrong! How do you guys think the dinner will go down? Also, because the timeline is so messed up, I can't figure out how I want clothes to look. Obviously there's the element of being stuck in old fashions because there are people hanging around from centuries before, so I can't decide what I want them to wear. Any ideas?_**

 ** _Also, apologies for the grammar mistakes. Not the best at that. Also, I have the misfortune of being British and living off of American tv, so I often put the American way instead of the British (see chapter one 'first floor' instead of 'ground floor'). In general, I don't know what I'm doing._**

 ** _Anyway, please review! Lotsa love!_**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 **Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter**

As a child, she had always adored fairy tales. The idea of magic, that anything was possible, had set her intelligent mind into overdrive.

Her mother used to tell her stories every night, about smart little princesses who always saved the prince. And as she got older, they turned into fables – the hare and the tortoise, how the crab got its shell. Every night a new, amazing story was told.

But the princess was slowly withdrawn from the narratives. As her mother grew more withdrawn, the lights slowly going from her eyes, so did the stories of the Princess.

Until one day, she spoke the truth, a truth Hermione only began to understand years later.

Her golden brown skin was bruised, as she held Hermione in her arms and told her of the princess, the princess who was trapped by a monster.

Jane was 18 when she first saw her absent. Although it was entirely by chance, as they were both from completely different worlds.

She was one of the few in their small town to be free, a gift given to her father for a lifetime of service by his previous owner before he died. Luckily that freedom also included Jane and her mother.

But they were too poor to live anywhere except where they always had, and so Jane had grown up no different to the other children of the slums except in the only way it mattered – she was free. Despite being a prisoner of poverty, the world was more open to her than anyone she knew. She was bound to no one except to her family through love, and her mother made her remember every day to appreciate that.

She was her father's little princess, and she dreamed of a world where she didn't have to go hungry, and didn't have to watch her friends work and die for nothing. She dreamed of a prince to take her away and fix the world.

He was everything she had dreamed. Yes, he was older because in her other life she had died young, but he was still handsome – and rich. Rich enough to make a difference.

Richard Granger was touring the slums where the majority of his slaves lived. He would not abide by slacking, and the slaves were inclined to be very lazy in his opinion.

He never expected to find his elegant, beautiful wife reincarnated in a place like a slum. And whilst Jane felt joy fill her as she took in his face, he only felt anger as he scanned hers.

"Girl, what is your name?" he called, harshly.

"Jane. Jane White, Sir," she beamed, "I believe that you are my Absent sir"

"Do you belong to me? Are you one of my slaves?" He replied coldly, although Jane did not realise it.

"No sir. I do not belong to anyone." She said, hoping she would soon Belong to him in marriage.

He began to visit her in secret. Although she was relatively light skinned for a slave, it would be a national scandal if it was revealed that his Absent was a Negro.

Despite his best attempts, he began to grow fond of the girl, of the shadow of the woman he once loved. And so, they married, on what Jane thought was the best day of her life. The Princess and the Prince riding off into the sunset.

A small announcement was printed in the paper of their wedding, but it did not go unnoticed by the people of the town, who for years questioned the identity of the mysterious Lady Granger.

As Jane traded her life of love and colour with her family, for that of matrimonial bliss, she realised what a mistake she had made.

Her parents had warned her. Warned her of what happened to slaves who Belonged to masters. But she hadn't listened.

She smiled, ecstatic, as she traded her freedom away for a life of cold solitude and heartache.

At first it was romantic. He kept them in him manor alone for a month, indulging in the pleasures of matrimony, and had accepted his excuses for the absence of trips out. But the months went on, and she was still not allowed to leave the grounds.

First she was timid in her requests to go outside, but at his insistent refusals to let her see her family, she grew hysterical. Tired of her 'wailing', he visited less and less, only popping in occasionally to take his rights.

Locked in her gilded cage, all Jane felt was fear when she felt a child moving inside her, and cried at the thought of it having the same fate as her.

Little Hermione was born pink and pale like her father, but with dark brown ringlets and chocolate eyes, much to her mother's relief. She would not be locked away, she could live her life and be free. She was white, and in her father's eyes, that was all that mattered.

Richard Granger hired the most expensive tutors for his daughter, and, prodigy as she was, she excelled at an alarming rate. But he did not care for her. She was too spirited. Too much like Jane. He had been unable to conceive with his first wife, and to have a half breed with his current wife seemed to make a mockery of their heartbreak.

As the years went on, Richard grew angrier and colder, taking it out on his young wife. He sucked the joy from the house, emotionally and physically abusing Jane.

Hermione watched it unfold. Watched her mother die a little inside each day. Saw the princess and the monster for what they were.

Hermione had always loved fairy tales, loved the idea of Absents. But now she knew the truth. Love was not pure, was not a fairy tale.

You could be born to love someone, but the world could shape and scar you into something unrecognisable. Incompatible.

Her mother died when Hermione was 15, crying for her parents. She died in pain, pain her Absent had caused, and Hermione decided to never let a man control her, whether he was her absent or not.

 **So, kind of a different chapter here. Sorry if it's a bit confusing. I have tonsillitis for the 5** **th** **time in 4 months, but I really want to update this story at least once a week.**

 **If you are confused by the reincarnation thing I will explain the rules. In this story, everyone has a soulmate. Aging stops at maturity (between 17 and 21 years old), and will only resume if their soul mate is found. If the soul mate dies, aging stops once again, and the soul mate is reincarnated into a new body.**

 **So here, Richard had a white soul mate, she died and his aging stopped, and he then found his reincarnated soul mate in Jane.**

 **If anyone has any issues with the words I'm using (AKA racist ones) please tell me, I really don't wanna offend anyone.**

 **Also, I love black Hermione, but for the sake of the story she is only half black and really light skinned so people can't tell. I guess in the continuity of Harry Potter she would then be considered a Half-blood. I was going to make Richard secretly Irish or something, as they were hated a great deal by the upper classes of Britain, but I thought that would cheapen it. Although, I guess by not making Hermione fully black I'm ruining the symbolism of her being a 'mudblood'. Ahhh, stress.**

 **Anyway, Love you all! Thank you so much for the reviews! Please leave more!**

 **Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 3**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 **Disclaimer – I don't own anything. Also – warnings for this chapter in terms of Violence and language!**

Hermione stomped back to her office in anger, brushing off the congratulations of people she knew. Slughorn worked fast, and so by now everyone knew about the connection formed between herself and Slytherin. When she almost snarled at a secretary for gushing to her about the wedding, she decided to up the pace a little, and managed to get to her office in record time.

Locking her door behind her she collapsed at her desk, palming her face as she considered the night to come.

 _What's the worst thing that could happen?_

She laughed aloud after pondering that thought. Indeed – what WAS the worst that could happen? He was an awful human being who would hate her even more if he knew what she truly was – a half-blood.

Should she tell him? That's what had been going through her mind when he spat out his vehemence for her people. As strong as she tried to be around him, she was afraid of him, and rightly so.

She kept reports on all of the founders – on the whole company really. On the things they didn't want people to know. Getting onto her knees, she pulled a huge box out from under her desk and opened it.

Inside was pages and pages of her handwritten scrawl, and after leafing through it for a couple of minutes, she found what she was looking for.

 **'Thomas Slytherin'** was written in bold on the front, _as bold as the man_ she thought, clamping her eyes shut in preparation for what she was about to read – she knew it would not be good.

Opening the document, the first thing she noticed were the punches in the paper, revealing the anger she had written the report in. Hermione brushed her fingers across the punctured pages, words like rape, torture and murder jumping out at her from the page.

Slamming it shut again, Hermione stuffed it back into the box and kicked it under the desk where it belonged. She knew what he could do, what he could do to her. There was no point in psyching herself out with things she already knew.

The hours dragged, and Hermione felt herself staring at the clock every 5 minutes, willing it to go faster. People kept on knocking and jiggling at the doorknob, but she ignored them. The rustle of plastic told her that there were a number of bouquets of congratulations outside her door. She would have felt happy that people had thought of her that way, but judging from the voices who left them, she knew that they only wanted to get on better footing with Slytherin.

The end of the day came and went, but Hermione could not will herself to move. Finally, after an hour of sitting motionless, she motivated herself with panic to move so she could get ready.

After half an hour of trying on different outfits, Hermione settled on a perfectly modest dress that would be suitable for somewhere as decadent as the Grand. Scowling at herself in the mirror, she pulled her hair into a chignon – though it fought back with a vengeance – and applied a small amount of makeup. She didn't particularly enjoy the activity, but she knew as a woman her looks was one of the few weapons she possessed. Not that she would ever want to use them against Slytherin. She didn't even want him to touch her.

Hermione sighed and picked up a book, realising he hadn't even said when he would be picking her up. It was a book by an oriental scholar, Slughorn had recommended it to her, as it categorized the oriental races. Numbly, she read the words before she could stomach no more and put it down.

In school, everyone had teased her because she seemed to never be able to lay down a book, but today seemed to be the exception.

Finally, she heard a single knock on the door, and grabbing her coat and bag she ran to the door. She did not want to give him any opportunity to come in her home. Pulling open the door violently, she pushed herself outside and quickly locked it, not sparing a moment to look at him, until he felt him graze his hand along her face and hairline, causing her to rear away and scowl at him.

He smirked down at her, before appraising her outfit. In the awkward silence that followed, Hermione huffed in annoyance, before he uttered quietly "You'll do, I suppose."

Hermione resisted rolling her eyes, and took the initiative to walk downstairs, leaving him to follow her.

When they reached the doorway, Hermione noticed a beautiful car waiting for them outside. Turning to Riddle in confirmation that was their ride for the evening, he nodded, smiling before offering her his arm. In politeness, she took it, knowing that the walk to the car – and her contact with Slytherin – would be fleeting.

But it was not fleeting. As they sat in the car, he kept her arm to his chest – her hand over his heart. Through all the material, she could not feel it beat at all. She supposed it was meant to be charming and romantic, but added to the silence and her distrust of him, it just felt creepy.

Unable to deal with the silence, she stared out of the window, wishing she could just open the door and get out, despite the speeds they were racing at around the town. But his hand over hers kept her prisoner.

They smoothly reached their destination, and Hermione found with relief that she could get out of the car unattached to Riddle – of course that was short-lived as he immediately pulled her arm into his once more after her exited the car.

Inside the beautiful hotel, Hermione stared up at the crystal chandeliers and shining mirrors with wonder. Slytherin led them to the concierge, and asked for their reservation.

"Of course, Lord Slytherin," he said, deferentially, "and the other person from your party has already arrived and is waiting at your table."

Hermione's head snapped to look at Slytherin.

"You didn't say there would be anyone else?" she asked, her statement forming a question as she wondered who else was to join them. Slytherin ignored her, and pulled her to follow the waiter to their table.

As soon as she saw who was awaiting them, her feet ground to a halt. Shaking her head slightly she tried to back away, but Slytherin's arm in hers was like a vice.

He turned to look at her, a triumphant smirk on his face as he saw the tears on her face.

"Please! Please don't make me!" she whispered desperately to him, afraid her Father would turn around and see her.

She hadn't seen him in over a decade, and she had no intention of seeing him again any time soon.

"But darling," he said cruelly, "It is tradition for newly formed couples to meet their soon-to-be parents in law"

Hermione shuddered at his words, and was unable to stop him from pulling her to the table. She had thought that she could be strong tonight, that she could hold her own against him. She was wrong.

 _What's the worst thing that could happen?_

Her words rang back mockingly to her, as her Father turned around and looked at her with the same look he always gave her – sullen disappointment.

"Good to see you again Richard," Slytherin said smoothly, extending his hand to shake her fathers, who grunted in response, and shook his hand, all the while not looking away from her face.

She said nothing, and merely stared back, her lips open as she tried not to hyperventilate.

"Let's all sit then, shall we?" Slytherin said with a charming smile, holding out Hermione's chair for her. She felt so weakened, she didn't even refuse.

The three sat in silence for over 5 minutes. Father and Daughter in deadlock, and Slytherin in tacit amusement.

"So…" Richard Granger heaved out, "She belongs to you, then, does she?" he said, addressing Riddle, his eyes never leaving her. Hermione's own eyes narrowed in anger.

"Yes, it seems so," Riddle said, grasping her clammy hand in his own and squeezing painfully,

"She won't be docile, you know. Had a lot of trouble with this one when she was a girl, takes too much after her mother."

Hermione slammed her hand on the table. "Don't you talk about her!" she seethed, and people in the restaurant jumped in fright, staring at them in shock before resuming their meals.

Richard gave out a low gravelly chuckle. "You see? Might want to keep her indoors. I find women spend a good too much time outside taking the airs – gives them ideas, you see?"

"Of course," Riddle said politely, eyeing her from the corner of his eye as she shook in anger. "Although, I imagine Hermione enjoys her job. She is the head of a department now, did you know?" He spoke of her with condescension; like the praise you give a child when it draws an incomprehensible picture.

"Ha!" Richard crowed, before giving a heaving cough as a result of years of heavy cigar smoking. "I imagine you'll put a stop to that once the two of you are married."

It was Hermione's turn to laugh now. "Why would you assume we are to marry? If I am not mistaken, a bride must be willing for a wedding to take place – and I assure you, I am not willing." She hissed, wrenching her hand from Slytherin's and clambering to her feet.

"You must control yourself if you are to be a good wife my Hermione," Richard rumbled, his face growing red.

"Fuck. You. I was never yours, and neither was she!" she shouted, the restaurant-goers again the audience to a major scandal.

Hermione ran from the room and out of the door. She had been blindsided. She had not known what to expect and it burnt her. She didn't want to think about her former life again. Trapped in that miserable house, witness to her Mothers pain.

She would be strong – but not now. Not when she had tears streaming down her face and her feet were weaving her from side to side.

A hand grabbed her, and she was unsurprised to find that it was Slytherin. He was smirking again, and she just wanted to slap it off of his face. Once a boy had angered her so much that she slapped him as hard as she could, and he never dared cross her again. In fact, that seemed like a pretty good idea, and so raising her hand she went to slap him hard, to get him to stop touching her.

She was apparently too slow, as he grabbed her wrist and twisted it painfully, before pulling her into an alley, where she struggled and fought against him.

"Get off of me!" she screamed in frustration and anger and _pain_.

"Shhhhh, calm down. It's ok," he said, like he was trying to calm a startled horse, one of his hands stroking her mane whilst the other held her hands above her head, his hips pressed against hers to stop her struggling and kicking against him.

"Fuck you!" she screeched again. "Why would you do that to me?" she whispered then, brokenly, sniffling as she looked up into his eyes.

"Because you Belong to me. But you didn't seem to understand that." He said softly, staring deeply back at her.

She didn't want to belong to him. She didn't want to belong to anyone, especially if it meant hurting someone, or taking away their right to choose. She wanted freedom, and he was trying to break her down and take it away from her.

If there were two things her mother had told her, it was this – the value of freedom, and the strength she held. She wasn't going to let him take them away from her.

A flare of insanity shone in her eyes, the kind that foretold bad choices, but that in the moment held everything she wanted to say.

"I belong to you, do I? I will be your wife – you told everyone that yourself. But you don't know me, do you? Don't know what I'm really made of." He seemed to be growing tired of her words. "Don't know the _blood_ that flows through my veins."

His eyes narrowed, and his hand closed around her throat, a threat – telling her to keep talking or to stop? She didn't care.

"Dirty blood – isn't that what your lot call it? Do you really want me sullying your line? You'll always think I have mud for blood, so why even _fucking_ bother?" she snarled, her face contorted in anger as she took in his.

Hands slowly tightened around her neck, and she began to panic. _That was a bad idea_. A voice said ominously in her head. Her hands scratched at his hands, as her face melded into one of fear, opposing the anger on his.

But anger filled her once again, and as his hands relaxed and tightened once again, enough for her to breathe still, and she found the strength to mouth 'fuck you' at him. She wasn't sure what he was doing, but she wasn't having any of it. She just didn't care anymore.

And then he laughed. Her eyes widened at the sound, and even more so when he removed his hands from her neck. Gasping and coughing, she tried to push him off her again, but he wouldn't budge.

"There's that fire," he said in a satisfied sigh, looking down at Hermione as she recovered in a gasping mess.

She looked up at him in disgust. It was all a game to him. Despite her blood, as long as she amused him, it seemed he wouldn't hurt her.

Her face seemed to spur him into action, and he pushed her against the wall once more, his mouth demanding against hers as she tried to avoid it, still recovering from his last embrace.

OK….. So there's that! Sorry for the huge wait, I have had a mini-dissertation to do, and it's been hellish. Hope you guys are all ok! This one was a bit intense, but I wanted to write a long one to make up for how long I've left it. Apologies for the language, but I thought it was necessary as Hermione kind of goes off the rails in this chapter. I might be elevating this to M at some point, so be aware people! Hope you enjoyed it!  
Please review! It gives me life!

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 3


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter.**

She felt empty. Her mind separate from her body, watching apathetically from a distance.

Lips on hers, hungry, drinking from her, taking from her. His hips pinned against hers, hard, the brick at her back scraping her sensitive skin.

Hands that were clasped at her throat now grasped at her waist, cruel fingers digging into her.

 _Move._

 _Move._ A voice said, a small but resilient part of her that never trembled, and never would.

She tried to turn her head, away from his beautiful, soft lips, and so he kissed her neck, before biting – marking his territory.

"Get off of me!" she croaked, her throat sore form his grip.

He groaned, pressing more kisses against her straining neck.

"Ii suppose I have gotten a bit carried away. Only you do this to me," he whispered into her ear, fingers in the tendrils of her hair, waiting to pull.

"I need to go home," she whispered, trying once more to pull away from him.

"I know sweetheart," he cooed, stroking her face, and she felt bile rise up into her throat. She wasn't a baby; she was a grown woman.

At her obvious look of disgust, his hand dropped and he huffed "fine!" in annoyed affirmation, before grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him.

She was dizzy, her feet tripping over each other, and was shocked when Slytherin immediately dragged her into his car. It was parked directly opposite the alley they had been in; the driver must have seen everything.

She quickly tried to set her appearance to rights. Her hair had been pulled out of its elegant style, and a shoulder of her dress had fallen down, revealing the scratch marks on her back even more clearly.

Taking deep breaths, she began to recall herself, returning to an active position in her own life. Yes, she was in his car, under his control but she could move. However, she found herself sat between his legs, his arms wrapped around her.

Scowling, she removed them and sat in her own seat, as far away as possible from him, causing him to laugh once more.

"I've never met anyone like you before," he said, gazing into her eyes in wonder.

She raised an eyebrow, incredulous "so you've been alive for over 1000 years, and you've never met your absent before? I find that hard to believe."

He only smirked in response, so she continued.

"And as for never meeting anyone like me before, maybe that's for the best. I will never be anything other than myself, and that means I will never be cooperative. You'd do well to find someone else." Her voice had a tinge of hope within it, causing his smirk to deepen.

"All I want," he drawled, "is for you to be exactly who you are" he said, sincerely, with a sickening sweet smile on his face, his eyes wide in earnest.

She simply scowled in response, deciding not to speak with him for the rest of the journey.

To her relief, he actually dropped her off at her apartment. She almost broke the door handle in her enthusiasm to leave his presence. But to her dismay, he followed after her.

She stomped all the way up to her front door, unfortunately hearing his quiet footsteps right behind her.

Scrambling for her keys like one of the heroines in Ginny's favourite novels, Hermione tried her best to open the door before the monster reached her.

His hand slammed onto the door right by her head, and she jumped, dropping the keys.

"Will you just go away and quite bothering me?" she snapped, knowing she wasn't being wise, but continuing regardless. She had quite the temper – a lovely inheritance from her father – and when it got going, she couldn't stop it.

"Kiss me," he said softly, long lashes looking down on her darkly. Any woman who didn't know the truth behind his façade would have melted at his feet at such a look – but all it drew from Hermione was an incredulous laugh.

She bent down to pick up her keys, ignoring his comment, but when she stood up, she found he had encroached on her personal space once again.

"You are not acting like a gentleman. I will scream if you continue, and my landlord will call the police," she hissed, nose flaring in anger as she gestured at her landlord's door down the corridor.

He simply smiled, "If you scream, and the landlord calls the police, do you know what will happen? I'll just pay the both off, or have some friends of mine deal with them in a manner you might also consider ungentlemanly." His voice was slick with confidence as his eyes stared unblinkingly into hers.

"All you have to do is kiss me back, and I'll leave you alone. Well – for tonight," he said, coming even closer.

Hermione stared down the hall at the little red door of her landlord, Mr Hazelton. He was a lovely old man who occasionally gave her biscuits and looked after Crookshanks when she was away. She couldn't bear to be the cause of harm to him, and she knew Slytherin certainly had the capital and manpower to back up his threats.

"Fine," she croaked, nervous, but her eyes were still blazing in anger.

She reached up a gentle hand to cup his face. It was beautifully smooth, and she marvelled once more at how he had managed to keep it from aging, and safe from the ravages of time.

Pretence fell from his face as his mouth slightly opened. She felt his breath on her face; it smelled of peppermint.

She leaned up, brushing her lips against his. She knew she wouldn't get away with a simple peck, and so she pressed her lips more firmly against his, her other hand tentatively reaching to cup his neck to hold herself up, as he was significantly taller than herself.

This action proved to be unnecessary, however, as he roughly pushed her back against her front door, deepening their kiss.

The sounds reverberating in the hallway were surreal to her. The sound of skin on skin, the echo of their breaths.

Her anger still burned through her, and so when his hands on her waist began to rise, her teeth bit down on his lip, drawing blood.

He stared down at her in shock, panting. Her lips were red with his blood, and he marvelled at how beautiful it made her look.

Slytherin's face drew closer, his nose brushing against the soft skin of her cheeks, her breath matching his.

He swooped down on her once again, his lips attacking hers, and in anger she sucked on his bleeding lip, hoping to cause him pain in her passion.

He groaned, deeply, before picking her up by her thighs, their hips rubbing against each other as their lips met again and again in anger and lust.

He returned the favour and bit her lip, causing her to gasp. Taking advantage, he swept his tongue against hers, dominating her mouth as she fought back, passion overtaking anger.

She had never felt this before. She had always told herself that to fall to feelings like this was weakness.

But she had never experienced this heat, had a man who knew what he was doing. They moved in concert, perfectly synchronized, pleasure singing through their bodies.

He ground against her, and she couldn't help but release a moan. Chuckling darkly, he repeated the action, her whimpers filling the hallway.

She felt herself begin to lose control, frantic in her need for him, she needed to be closer –

"Miss Granger!" a shocked voice quaked from the stairwell.

 _Oh Christ._

Turning around, she found Mr Hazelton staring at her in disbelief.

She awkwardly disentangled herself from Slytherin – much to his displeasure – and in mortification, pulled her skirt down from its scandalous position on her thighs.

"I'm so sorry to have disturbed you Mr Hazelton. My Absent and I just got a bit carried away," she giggled girlishly.

Mr Hazelton loved the idea of true love, and he had spent over 50 years with his loving wife before her death. Hermione knew that he would be understanding if she pulled that card.

Glancing up at Slytherin, she found him staring down at her in amusement. Giggling was not exactly something she did.

Mr Hazelton's eyes lit up, "Oh my dear! I had no idea you had found him! No need to worry yourself. I remember those early days, my dear wife and I could barely stand being apart for too long. You and your partner must come for tea at some point!" he beamed, eyes flickering between the young 'couple' in front of him.

"Err, of course!" she said in strained enthusiasm. "Anyway, I hope you have a lovely evening Mr Hazelton."

"Thank you my dear," he said, before lowering his voice "But please do be careful, it is always best to wait until marriage!"

Her face burned, and before she could think of a response, Slytherin cut in smoothly "Of course, we have almost settled on a date. It could be my pleasure to see you there."

"Wonderful! Well I'm off to bed, but have a lovely evening." And with that, he set off down the hall, closing his door behind him, and leaving a red-faced woman and smug man in his wake.

Once the door slammed shut, Hermione's head whipped around to look at Slytherin.

"Well? You got what you wanted – I kissed you. Now I'm going to bed. I'll see you at work." She huffed, trying to forget what had just occurred between them.

"Do you see it now?" He stared at her intensely, and despite the space between them, she felt physically pinned by his gaze. "Do you see what we have between us? You can't ignore it."

"That's funny, because that's exactly what I plan on doing," she responded airily, wielding her keys once more.

"Whatever you need to believe. You belong to me, and you will learn that soon enough." He said, before kissing her cheek and descending down the stairs, leaving her fuming.

It had been a horrible night. She still couldn't believe what he'd done to her. There was no one in the world she hated more than her father. Except, perhaps, Riddle himself. The fact that they were very compatible physically meant nothing to her. It was a distraction at best. Because she knew what he was underneath his beautiful face. A monster. And he had proved that to her tonight.

 **OK – so that was a thing I wrote. Don't feel especially good about it, as those sort of scenes aren't exactly my strength, so apologies if it was terrible. Also I hate him pushing her around, but hey, that's the fic so far! Sorry I've been away for so long, I've had essays and exams and I am generally human trash.**

 **I would love it if you guys would review, I'm gonna start trying to reply, so if there's anything you want me to do or change I will try my best!**

 **Lots of love! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter.**

Chapter Eight

"Wake up!"

 _What?_

"Wake up runt!" A kick to his side.

Groaning, he rose from his small cot, fearful eyes looking up at the foreboding figure towering over him.

"Yes?" he asked in a small voice, clutching his ragged blanket around him. The stone floor was so cold against his feet.

"I don't know why you are even allowed to stay here! All you do is sleep!" Alden snarled at him, before snatching the blanket away, leaving Tom in the cold. "If I were your father, I would have kicked you out, along with that whore mother of yours long ago!"

All Tom could do was stare at the floor. Retaliation had brought him nothing but pain, and so he kept his mouth shut. At night, when no one could hear him, he prayed to God to make him grow strong, so Alden couldn't hurt him anymore.

Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, Alden pulled Tom out of the room.

"You've got chores to do, so do them! Or do you want to live on the streets?" Alden growled, allowing Tom to fall to the ground onto already grazed knees.

His mother had sometimes spoken about sending him to a monastery, where they looked after young boys whose parents couldn't look after their children themselves. But then she would get that look in her eyes – the one Tom hated – that she only got when she spoke about his Father.

'But of course,' she would say, 'We could never abandon your father like that.'

Even though he was only 6 years old, Tom knew she was delusional. He grew up too fast, too young as nasty words were thrown at him from every angle. He was not spared from the humiliation of his mother.

Silly Merope of Riddle, a poor maid who was both ugly and mad, had somehow tempted Lord Thomas Slytherin into her bed, and a child was born of the union. Lord Slytherin cared nothing for her, but her devotion and inability to look after herself or her son, had meant they were allowed to stay in the castle.

Merope walked the castle corridors, muttering to herself about her love of Thomas, and Tom toddled after her, his head filled with the unkind words of strangers.

He was born of dishonour, and treated as such. He had older siblings, but they were legitimate and had no time for him. One of his sisters had even spat in his face once.

Tom had learnt long ago that the world was a cruel place. And so, eyes that had filled with tears, and a heart that had been filled with love were both empty now.

As for Tom's father, the only interactions he had with the man were those of barely concealed loathing. Merope was a source of mockery for Lord Slytherin, and so as a reminder of his grave mistake, Lord Slytherin held no love for his young son.

Tom went uncared for, his clothes unkempt, and covered in dirt. Days were filled with chores, harsh words and beatings.

The only escape he had was through reading. Daily, Tom made his way to the local church to read with the priests. Despite never being taught, Tom was able to read from the age of 4, and the priests were preparing him for education, in recognition of his talents.

His deep blue eyes ate up each word, examining and understanding – calculating.

His horse trudged on through the mud. Fuming, he saw that it had splattered onto his new coat.

Tom had wanted to make an impression. The educated man returning from university was far different from the young, terrified boy who left for grammar school.

He hadn't seen his mother in over 10 years. He tried to find it within himself to care, but thinking of her bare feet pattering along the hallways of the castle as people looked on in disgust almost made him recoil. From what he heard from the priests, she hadn't gotten any better, or any worse since he left.

 _Good._ He thought, _that means she cares as little about me as I do her_.

He saw the castle looming in the distance, surrounded by lush trees, truly beautiful in its position on the horizon.

But as much as Tom had hoped for a happy return, all he felt was dread.

He had been shocked when Lord Slytherin had agreed to pay for his grammar school and university fees. The priests had persuaded him, calling his academic talents 'a gift from God'.

Tom snorted at that thought. There was no God. God didn't create a world like this, where people tore each other to shreds, ruined themselves, and lived their lives in greed.

His thoughts turned to his mother once again. She was so convinced Lord Slytherin was her soulmate, she had driven herself mad. But as they both stayed the same age, the truth was revealed.

He was almost at the gates, his heart beating fast. Nodding to the guards at the gate, he galloped through, hands shaking at the stirrups.

Dismounting, he saw everyone looking at him – people he had known his whole life. They stared at him like they didn't know who he was. But he recognised something else in their expressions – jealousy and lust.

Tom knew how he looked now. The poor, malnourished ugly bastard was now beautiful. Straight white teeth, long black hair, and eyes that drew people in. Tom had honed his charm into a weapon that he used without restraint. He could get whatever he wanted, as long as he used the right words.

"Tom?" a voice boomed from across the yard, and, stiffening, Tom realised it was Alden.

Standing his ground, Tom nodded, as Alden trudged over to him.

The child inside of him laughed and laughed. He was taller than Alden now. In fact, Alden was hunched over, half of his arm missing, clearly sick. Tom could not help but feel happiness as he took in the appearance of his former tormentor.

"Ehh, you're a big lad are you now? Best not be gettin' too big for your boots." Alden grumbled as he looked Tom up and down.

Tome didn't deign to reply, and simply turned with his belongings and left, leaving an angry Alden behind.

"Get back here boy! I wasn't done with you!" Alden snarled, before grabbing his arm.

Tom whipped around, pushing Alden to the floor, where he landed with a painful thwack.

Tom watched in satisfaction as Alden strained to get up, mud and shit coating his clothes as he flailed pathetically. A small smile lit up Tom's face, before something caught his eye.

Looking up at the battlements, Tom caught sight of Lord Slytherin looking down at the scene below him.

Tom had almost forgotten what his father looked like, and so it was a shock to see the mirror-like face of his father staring back at him. A face that smiled back, for the first time in Tom's life.

Tearing himself away, Tom ignored the whispers that surrounded him, as onlookers watched the scenes. Taking two steps up at a time, he made his way to his mother's quarters, hoping she wasn't there, but needing a place to stay.

Unfortunately, as soon as he knocked on the door, it flew open, and his mother's youthful face stared back at him.

"Thomas? My Thomas?" she whispered, touching his face.

Rearing back and scowling, Tom muttered "No, it's Tom." Before pushing past her into the room.

"Oh," – she sounded so disappointed, and Tom was angry with himself that it hurt.

"I'm staying in your spare room until harvest." He stated, pulling his belongings into the smaller bedroom, and slamming it behind himself.

Tom spent his days reading, helping with the castle apothecary and visiting the priests.

Despite his academic abilities, and excellence with a sword, he was unsure of his next move.

All he had ever wanted was control. He had spent so long under other people's thumbs, and after his taste of freedom, he had decided HE was to be the one in power. To rule over others with an iron fist.

In his mind he had two options to achieve this. He could fight for the king, and receive a knighthood for his services.

Or, he could be legitimised.

Lord Slytherin had been king for over 90 years at this point; his fresh face had seen children come and go, wars begin and end like the sun rising and setting. And so, he had a number of children from a number of different wives.

Within the line of succession, Tom was not dangerous. But no one liked a bastard gaining too much power.

And so, Tom set himself another task. To gain the trust of the castle and town. His mouth hurt from smiling at ladies passing by; him arm bruised from winning a spar against the castle captain. Tom charmed whoever he could, whenever he could. All the while, staring at their faces, hiding his fury. His memory never let him forget an unkind word, and they reverberated around his head as he simpered to people he hated.

He became friends with the local youths, secretly teaching them to fight. They looked up at him, calling him 'Lord Tom', but for the first time, it wasn't in mockery. He filled their heads with dreams of how things could be. Then he told them who was the cause of their misery - and they believed him wholeheartedly.

All this time, Tom felt his father's eyes on him. He still could not help but feel shock when he saw that he did not look on him with anger. He looked at him with pride.

Tom began to meet with his father, where they would speak of philosophy, religion – of life and death.

"The greatest endeavour a man can have is to live as long as possible." Lord Slytherin once said to him, "it shows his dominance and superiority over his fellow men. Our family motto is 'Esto Perpetua', and I intend to fulfil it."

On this, Tom agreed with his father. The only certainty in life was that you lived, and then you died. People lived their mundane lives before rotting in their graves, and Tom could not bear the thought of being mundane, like the disgusting peasants he spent his time with.

"Father," his voice was strong, as he stared at his father in the eyes, unblinking. "I would not ask this of you, but I feel it is what I must do, in order to support both you and my King. I hope you will grant me this request."

He gulped, taking a moment too soon between his words.

"Well? What is it?" he Father grumbled, annoyed at his lack of pace.

"I hoped that you would legitimise me. Allow me to take some lands so that I may improve them. Let me extend your legacy." He pleaded, vulnerable for the first time in years.

Lord Slytherin sighed. "My son. I have grown to love you, as you are so like me in ways my legitimate children are not." Tom felt his hope begin to rise.

"But, this I cannot allow. Despite my love for you, I cannot allow you to be anything other than my bastard. You speak of extending my legacy, but what would that mean? My shame spreading his seed across this country. No. this I cannot allow. I must ask you to leave."

Tom felt cold wash over him. "Fine, I will see you at dinner."

"No Tom, I must ask you to leave the castle. Now that you have expressed an interest in legitimisation, I cannot trust you around your brothers and sisters." His father replied gravely.

Tom felt fury build up within him.

It scared him sometimes – the heat inside him. It reached fever pitch so fast, and slashed out of him, hurting whoever stood in his way.

"My whole life," he seethed, "was spent trying to make you proud. To win your approval. I proved myself smarter than all the others. Better at fighting, diplomacy, better at being your child. But you still reject me."

"I am proud of you – but you cannot ask this of me."

"You cannot ask this of ME! Ask me to throw my life away because you are embarrassed about my mother!" Tom cried, feeling like a child again. He thought he knew how cruel the world was, but the fact punched him in the get once more.

"I am afraid I must. You can go live a quiet life, find your Absent, become a farmer. I would even say you're lucky, son. You don't have to deal with the responsibility of power, like your brothers will."

Ignoring Tom's glower, he continued. "Besides, I can't risk your mother's madness setting into you."

Tom saw red, and before he could stop himself, he threw himself at his father.

The two men, as similar as brothers struggled on the floor, amidst broken pottery and fallen books.

Tom forced his hand against his father's mouth, to prevent him from shouting for help. His hands then clamped around his throat, squeezing brutally.

Tom stared into his father's eyes below him, his fingers scratching at the vice that squeezed the life out of him.

Kicks didn't land, wheezes for help went unheard, and the king of 90 years died at the hands of his son.

Tom couldn't move. What had he done? When the guards found his father, Tom would surely be killed. Everyone knew that every nightfall Tom and his father met for their discussions.

Staring into the face of his progenitor, Tom felt himself harden. He would do what was necessary.

That night screams filled the castle, as the line of Slytherin died except for one – Tom of Riddle.

With the support of the local church and community, he was granted the lordship, at the risk of riot in the local community.

Voices that cried out against it were silenced, and Tom of Riddle became Lord Thomas Slytherin.

 **Hey Guys,**

 **Here's another update for you. Really not my best, as I've started a new job and I am tired as hell.**

 **I just thought I'd give a bit of backstory on Tom. Obviously the end is a bit unbelievable, and its very GOT fanfiction, so apologies. Also, it feels very rushed, but I didn't want it to be too long, otherwise it would be a whole story on its own. Besides, we can see more of past Tom another time.**

 **Again, please review! I'll love you forever! I will return to Hermione again after this, but please let me know if you like these interval things.**

 **Lots of Love!**

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **Review Responses**

garnet86 -  Thank you so much! It's so good to hear that my raunchy scenes are ok :)

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Guest \- Thank you! I will try my best!

God Save the Queen 123 - Thanks for reviewing! I will try my best for you!

Lexicon63738 \- Aww you are such a babe! Thank you, that means so much to me!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter, just writing for 'fun'**

Knock. Knock. Knock.

 _What?_

Hermione's eyes opened blearily.

Peering at the small crystal alarm clock on her bedside table, her face pulled down into a frown.

4:15am – who on earth would be bothering her at this time of the morning?

If it was Slytherin, she resolved to ignore him. She wasn't quite sure if this was the smart choice, but he seemed to both hate and enjoy her defiance, and it gave her a feeling of control.

Rolling out of bed, she reached underneath the frame (and in-between piles of books) to pull out her trusty cricket bat.

Padding over to the front door, and twisting the bat in her hands anxiously, Hermione looked through the spyhole to ascertain the identity of her late night visitor.

He was older – in his 50's she guessed – but dressed in a style so outdated, he could not possibly be from a recent generation.

Gaudy robes covered in stars, with half-moon spectacles perched on his slightly crooked nose, he must have been born a few centuries ago at least.

His sparkling blue eyes seemed to peer back at her through the spyhole, almost as if he could see her.

Clearing her throat, she asked haughtily "who are you?"

"I am professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwarts University"

Hermione put the chain of the door through the latch, before opening the door a crack, so she could get a better look at the man in question.

"I thought you were dead?" she asked, shock permeating her question as she gazed at him in wonder.

"You are not the only one. I tend to pop in and out, depending on what is happening in the world. Living this long really does tend to get exhausting." He replied cheerily, a twinkle in his eye.

"Why are you here now? At my door? In the middle of the night?" She asked suspiciously, eyes slightly narrowed.

His expression turned grave, and his eyes lost their sparkle. "I'm afraid I have some distressing news that I must relay to you with the utmost urgency."

"Well can you tell me now? What is it?" she asked, still distrusting this seemingly kindly figure.

"It has to do with Thomas Slytherin." He replied, eyes meeting hers, filled with sadness.

Hermione reached up and unlatched the door, before stepping aside to let the professor through.

His long hat brushed the frame of the door, and Hermione supressed the need to laugh despite the seriousness of their situation.

The two figures sat by the fireplace as moonlight dripped into the room, casting shadows that eerily played across the room.

Hermione quickly got up and turned on a lamp, eager to replace the oppressive atmosphere that had taken root, but failing.

Dumbledore stared at her intensely, before slowly uttering. "It has come to my attention that you have recently become engaged to Thomas Slytherin, it this correct."

Hermione considered her words carefully. She could not risk word getting back to Slytherin that she had been badmouthing him to strangers, or who knows what he would do.

"Yes, so he has told me." She said stiffly, as Dumbledore's eyes seemed to stare into her soul.

"Do you know what he is?" he replied carefully, eyes continuing to search her for a response.

"What do you mean – "she began to say, before her words caught in her throat and she began coughing incessantly, clutching her throat. She had forgotten how his hands had wrapped around her neck, and so recoiled at the resulting pain of even brushing against the sore flesh.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed as he took in the bruises on her person.

"I know you love him, but you must be careful of him. He will hurt you more. And worse."

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh, struggling with her sore throat as she did. "What on earth are you talking about, 'love him'?!"

Dumbledore looked shocked. "Well I assumed, seeing as you are engaged and your general response."

 _General response?_

"We have never met before, so how could I have had any sort of 'general response' to that question?" she scowled, wishing he would just be clear with what he was saying.

"I am afraid we have met before. Many times in fact. Unfortunately, our meetings always end the same way." Dumbledore said, gravely, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve uncomfortably.

"That is not possible. I would have remembered you professor, especially considering you are the hero of a childhood friend."

"The last time we met was around 35 years ago. Your name was Rebecca O'Malley. You lived a happy life in Dublin with your family until you met Thomas Slytherin. You quickly fell in love, and despite my warnings planned to get married, but died shortly afterwards."

Hermione began to shake, staring at the coals in the fireplace.

"Before that I met you in France. Your name was Aurelia, and you were running an orphanage on the outskirts of Paris. Basking in the joy of finding your absent Thomas Slytherin, you ignored my warnings, and died of unknown causes not two weeks later."

Hermione continued to ignore his gaze, fear truly gripping her for the first time.

"Hermione, I have met you dozens of times, and the same set of events have always occurred. I don't expect you to listen to me, because you never do, but please be careful!" He stared at her pleadingly.

"I know what he is." She choked.

"What?"

"You asked earlier if I knew what he is, and I do. He is a monster. I know that. But I don't know what to do. He has power over every aspect of my life, and I don't know what I can do to protect myself." She trembled, feeling young for the first time in a long time.

Dumbledore took her hand, squeezing it tightly. "I can help you! I have known Slytherin his whole life, and I intend to steer him back to the good that I know is within him."

Hermione stared at him incredulously, but allowed him to continue.

"I trained him at university. At first all I saw was a precocious young man, but soon I realised he was so much more than that. Our paths have crossed many times, and I am filled with regret for all I taught him."

"What did you teach him?" Hermione asked, confused. Obviously both had lived for centuries, so knowledge was never really outside of their grip due to the benefit of time.

Dumbledore considered her for a moment, before whispering "Do you believe in magic Miss Granger?"

Hermione frowned again, "Like black cats and potions in children's stories?"

"No. Magic surrounds us constantly. Our lives are dictated by destiny, to be able to find that magical person who completes us. Scientists have tried to prove that it is a chemical reaction, our bodies reacting to the genetic opposite, but this has been proved to not be the case. There is an ancient magic that exists within us, but it is stronger in some. Rare, though it is."

Dumbledore sighed before continuing, "Thomas is one of these strong magic users, and I have the shameful title of his teacher."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "How am I even supposed to believe this is true? If there were magic users in this world, then surely everyone would know?"

"Thomas and I were born in a time where strangeness was reviled – not so different from now really. Anyone unusual would be hunted down. I only found out he was a magic user by chance, in the middle of what I later realised was an act of retribution against someone who displeased him. This belief in keeping the secret has continued, and so those outside the community have no knowledge of it."

"In fact, I believe that you yourself are a magic user, but from what I understand it was repressed by your father."

"How do you supposedly know all this?" Hermione asked, unconvinced.

"All it takes is a quick look inside your head. I apologise for the intrusion, but it is necessary."

"Fine. Tell me something that only I would know." She responded, arms folded over her chest.

"Your mother used to sing you to sleep. When you were little, it was the only thing that would allow you any rest. When she died, you barely slept for two years." He replied, sympathy clouding his eyes.

Hermione stared at him in silence, allowing all the information he had dumped on her to wash over.

"What do I need to do to," she paused, "defuse this whole situation."

"I'm afraid there is no simple answer, and I am unsure as to why you are always a victim, especially considering what you are to each other, but anything you need I will be there. If you need a place to stay, just call this number," he handed her a simple black business card, "and a car will arrive to take you away."

They continued to talk logistics for another hour, before the sun began to rise, and following it, Dumbledore rose to his feet, the stars on his robes glistening in the light.

"I am curious," he paused, reluctant to ask, before continuing, "You are the first to accept my word, to see him for what he is, to see past his declarations of love – why?"

Hermione looked small, dwarfed by the leather armchair she sat in, her white night gown washing out her features so she looked ghostly.

"Because I don't believe in love. Not anymore." Her voice, though quiet, rang out through the room.

Dumbledore left the room in silence, the closing door seeming to reverberate in her ears, before she found the strength to go back into her bedroom to get ready for work.

Hermione sat down at her mirror, staring at her reflection.

 _So weak. Pathetic. Who would love you anyway?_

 **Hi Guys!**

 **Sorry for the long wait, I am the worst.**

 **Daaaaamn, Hermione needs to lighten up a bit. Sorry this chapter wasn't my best, I'm really not good at writing Dumbledore.**

 **Just wanted to see what you guys would like from the next chapter:**

 **a)** Sexual Tension between Hermione and Tom

Plot Progression

 **c)** Angsty Hermione (Lol joke, this will be in every chapter)

 **Again, apologies for not updating. I had an insane job with wayyyy too much responsibility this summer (like, my boss was crying every day she was that stressed) and I had no time to do anything but sleep. I'm back at uni now (LAST YEAR WHOOOOOOOO) so I should be a bit more regular with my updates.**

 **Convictforever –** **Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed Tom's backstory, as I was a little wary of it, so I'm really appreciative of the positive feedback! Also about the characterisation, as I am very heavy on the angst.**

 **SpIdErbite20** **– Thank you! I will try!**

 **.flowers** **– Thank you! I will try to keep more to the story now, and keep away from these little side stories** **J** **Aww thank you! Haha I definitely needed the best at my new job, so thank you so much! I will try to update more quickly!**

 **Lexicon63738** **– Thank you hon! Always love seeing your reviews!**

 **Romantic dreamer girl** **– Thank you! Glad you like it!**

 **EndlessDelenaObsessedDesire –** **Aww thank you! I will try! Always good to see another Delena fan!**

 **MissPaperSoup** **– Glad you like it!**

 **Pink Slytherin** **– Aww no worries hon! I will try to update again soon!**


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